


if I time it right, the thunder breaks (when I open my mouth)

by nanasekei



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (no spoilers for the actual movie), First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Infinity War, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve loves Tony so much it's ridiculous, That's it that's the plot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 18:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14408049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/pseuds/nanasekei
Summary: “You know,” Tony mumbles, because Tony never stops talking. “When you say shit like - like that, it’s… It’s hard.” His voice is slurred now, his eyes closed, as if he’s not even sure he’s still saying anything aloud. “Because I know I should believe you, but I – I wanna believe it so bad, so fucking much, that it feels like I shouldn’t. Like, the second I believe it, the other shoe’s gonna drop, and you’re gonna find out you don’t mean it.”-Or: Five Times Steve told Tony he loved him, and one time he didn't need to.





	if I time it right, the thunder breaks (when I open my mouth)

**Author's Note:**

> -This fic is set in an imaginary Post-Infinity War universe where they defeated Thanos and everything is happy and everybody lives. There are no spoilers for the actual movie.
> 
> -The tone here is a bit of a mess in that it starts really Angst and eventually turns into Tooth-Rotting fluff by the end. So yeah. This fic contains: Some level of an Anti-Accords sentiment; a Talking About Siberia™ scene where Tony's self-perception is definitely messed up, though that's not validated by the actual story; and a Gossip Girl reference. Read at your own risk.

The first time it happens, Tony is unconscious.

Steve shouldn’t even be here, not when his own wounds are just barely starting to heal. He supposes it’s dangerous, too, not that he cares – the U.N. is too busy dealing with the fallout of Thanos’ attack to even think about arresting him now, and even if they did, honestly, Steve wishes good luck to the poor bastard that tries to drag him away from Tony’s bedside. He finds himself a chair and just sits there, far enough from the bed that when Tony wakes up he’s not going to have Steve in his personal space.

(Tony will wake up. The doctors said so. Bruce said so. Strange said so. Steve looks at his bruised face, his bandaged torso, closes his eyes and tells himself that over and over again, doesn’t think about _died on her sleep_ or about how long a person can take to wake up from a fall.)

The nurse does her best to convince him to leave, to go to his own room, and Steve knows she’s just doing her job, but he looks at her firmly and shakes his head. He doesn’t care about the pain anyway – he’s gotten used to the healing process, the constant burn of his skin stretching and his bones readjusting. He knows the doctors can’t help much, they never know what to make of his regeneration system, and it’s been three years since any actual hospital took a look at him anyway.

Steve _hates_ hospitals. He always hated them, ever since he was younger, begging to his mom to take care of him at home, and then later whining so much about it that Bucky learned basic first aid just to shut him up. Hospitals smelled of death and disease, of everything wrong about him, of all the ways he was too weak to help anyone.

A lot has changed since that time, but apparently not enough to make that feeling go away.

(He wonders what Tony thinks of hospitals. He makes a note in his mind to ask when – _when, when,_ not _if,_ don’t even think about _if_ – he wakes up.)

Steve looks at Tony. The past month, he had been doing that a lot – way too much, if Sam and Nat’s eye rolls were anything to go by. But Steve couldn’t help it. They were in the middle of a war, having to put everything aside to save the universe, and Steve couldn’t stop watching Tony working on something on the Milano, Tony giving Parker instructions, Tony fixing his armor after a tough battle. Steve would look, like he used to do back at the Tower, at the compound, at anywhere they were together. He’d take in in every detail, Tony’s eyes and skin and voice and smile.

He had been so sure he wouldn’t get to do that again.

Now, with Tony in that bed, eyes closed, chest moving slowly, Steve gets the chance to stare plainly, not worried about having to look away if Tony’s eyes glanced towards him for a moment. Tony looks pale, weak and wrong. The room is quiet like no place where Tony Stark is should ever be. Tony is all about noise, explosions and loud music and endless chatter. The silence feels suffocating, not a single sound in the room except for Tony’s slow breath.

(Focus on that, Steve tells himself, focus on the breathing, it’s the most important thing in the entire universe right now. Screw Thanos, screw the Infinity Stones, screw the U.N., Tony’s _breathing._ )

Steve thinks back on the first time he felt his heart stop waiting for the sound of Tony’s breath, a million years ago, in New York. He thinks of all the times afterward, of all the times it must have happened in the three years they spend apart. His arm burns, the wound there almost closing, and Steve tells himself the tears he feels wallowing up on his eyes are because of that.

When Colonel Rhodes opens the door, Steve doesn’t immediately notice. He doesn’t say anything, though, just walks to Tony, holding his hand and patting gently, mumbling something in his ear before standing up.

Steve feels a tinge of pain on his palms and realizes he’s clenching his fists, watching Tony’s hands, Tony’s face, Tony’s chest going up and down (that’s good, that’s _perfect_ , think about that, don’t think about _if_ ). He feels a huge burning feeling on his back. He guesses his bones must be rearranging as his ribs pull themselves back together, and that’s still nothing compared to watching Tony’s hand lay on that grey, awful, disgusting hospital bed.

Colonel Rhodes looks at him for a moment and Steve feels a burst of fear on his chest that has nothing to do with the pain. Nurses and U.N. officials are one thing, but Tony’s best friend is another. Still, the idea of leaving is unimaginable, Steve can’t even consider it, isn’t even sure if he’d be able to move if he had to. He looks at Tony’s hand again and nearly panics at the thought of not listening to that breath anymore. He’s one second away from begging to stay when the Colonel nods towards the bed, gesturing for Steve to come closer.

“Strange said talking helps.” He says, and his dark eyes watch Steve with something that can only be described as pity, and Steve will take it, gladly, has never been so happy to be pitied inside a hospital in his life. Then he nods again, glance going from Tony to Steve with an unreadable expression, and walks out of the room.

(On his way out, he lands a hand on Steve’s shoulder, patting quickly.)

Steve reaches for Tony’s hand, stopping himself on the way, nervous and ridiculous, unsure if he has the right to be doing this in the first place, but the sheer will takes over and he slowly covers Tony’s palm, squeezing his hand slightly.

He’s never held Tony’s hand before. He thought about it, many times, usually watching Tony talking, as he gesticulated quickly. He thought about warm fingers, calloused skin against his own, holding tightly because Tony wouldn’t want to let go as much as he didn’t.

It’s nothing like that, now – Tony’s hand is numb and motionless, cold because of the room’s air- conditioning. Steve feels his chest tightening.

“Hi.” He says, feeling like a complete idiot. “I, uh.” He doesn’t know what to say, which makes perfect sense, because he never quite knew what to say to Tony when he was awake, either.

Steve spends a moment in silence, his thumb caressing Tony’s knuckles. It’s maybe that, he thinks, what gives him some inspiration to open his mouth to talk – the silence is just too much, everything about this is so _wrong_.

“I’ve always liked your hands.” He says, his voice weak to his own ears. “I have whole sketchbooks of them. I… I have whole sketchbooks filled with you, really, but your hands are in it a lot. I like it when… When you do that thing where, you know, you’re talking and rambling and your hands just go everywhere, all over the place.” He takes a sharp breath. “I guess it’s because when I’m nervous, I never know what to do with my hands, and you – you always know.”

Steve pauses again, feeling a knot in his throat. Strange said talking helps, he reminds himself. Crying doesn’t help at all.

“I – I’m not sure what I’m trying to say here, Tony. But, uh, Strange said talking helps. And I know you… You’d roll your eyes at this, because you don’t believe in magic.” Steve smiles a little, because that’s _so Tony_ , meeting aliens and a sorcerer and stones that can destroy the universe and finding ways to explain them all. “But… Sometimes it feels like magic, what you do. When you start talking and rambling about something and your eyes – they, they get so big and bright, I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed it. I… I’ve always liked your eyes, too.” _Please open them_ , he wants to add, but he doesn’t know if he could continue talking after that, and _talking helps_ , Strange said, talking helps with _when_ and not _if,_ so Steve’s gonna keep talking. “They’re brown but sometimes the light hits them and they get shades of green, it took me forever to get the color right. Sometimes I still think I didn’t. I could show you my sketches, later, if you want. I bet you’re gonna say they pale in comparison to the original. I, I agree.”

Steve presses his lips together for a moment, watching Tony’s chest again, wanting to keep himself on track. “I never thought I’d get to hold your hand. I… I used to put my elbow on the table, right next to the coffee, because I knew your arm would brush mine when you came to get your mug. Clint said it was the most pathetic thing he’d ever seen, and he was probably right, but…” His thumb traces Tony’s palm and it’s so cold, so wrong, he blinks quickly to push the tears back. “But it was what I had, and I just, I was happy with anything I could get from you. Anything.” He takes a deep breath. “Any time you’d smile at me, or mock me, or we’d fight – Or, or in the battles, you’d fly forward and catch me and let me hold on to you, and I, I had never _flown_ before, you know? Not, not like that, ever, and again, I know you don’t believe in magic, but… But for me magic was anything you could do, Tony. Anything. I… I’m not making sense anymore, I don’t know what to say, but Strange said talking helps, and I need to help because I need you to wake up, Tony. I need you. I missed you so much. I love you.” It comes out so quickly, like throwing up, and Steve realizes he’s gripping Tony’s hand too tight. “I, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say that, but I need to keep talking, I need to keep doing this and I just-“

Tony’s chest moves up and down as Steve’s words get lost in his throat, and he wants to believe he felt a small, almost imperceptible squeeze on his hand, but he can’t be sure.

* * *

 

The second time it happens, Tony is drunk.

It’s a party in the new Avengers compound – they just had the latest U.N. meeting, and the Accords are officially down, with negotiations for a new law set to begin next week. Steve is glad, he really is. It’s still a strange feeling, one he has to get used to - not worrying about the next hideout, not having to check in on Clint and Scott constantly, not sleeping with a flip phone under his pillow.

(He still carries the phone around, sometimes. He doesn’t tell anyone, but in those first few months, when Tony was still at the hospital, holding to it was the only way he could fall asleep.)

Still, Steve isn’t good at parties. So, when the music is loud and Sam and Bucky are starting what’s definitely going to be a huge argument over a hand of poker, he stands up and walks to the couch, sitting down and taking a sip of his water. He glances around, at people dancing, drinking and talking. There’s a wave of affection in his chest, just by seeing everyone together and happy again, for the first time in so long.

“Water, Rogers, seriously? Could you be any more depressing?” Tony’s voice comes a moment afterward, as he slumps next to Steve, and if the slight slurring in his voice wasn’t enough to tell Steve he’s drunk, the way he lays back on the cushion definitely would be.

Steve’s eyes wander over Tony’s torso, the dark shirt covering what he knows are definitely less bandages than those he saw that day at the hospital. He ends up watching his hands – one of them laid on his lap, and the other holding a glass of scotch. Tony’s fingers tap the cup, subtly, but moving, and Steve – Steve thinks of how warm they must be now, and it’s as if that warmth fills his chest and throat, burning as if he’s just taken a shot.

“Cap? You with me here?” Tony insists, the hand that isn’t holding the glass coming up to wave in front of Steve’s face, way too close. “’Cause I have to tell you, you sitting here alone with fucking water, it’s a PR nightmare waiting to happen. If a picture hits the internet, what is the world going to think of our parties? Just looking at you makes me want to cry.”

(Tony’s voice is warm, too, Steve thinks – fast and snippy and comforting, like a song. He has to stop himself from closing his eyes to hear it.)

Steve shrugs. “Didn’t want to waste your scotch.”

Tony lets out a huffed laugh. He glances at Steve for a moment, his eyes searching his face quickly before looking away the second Steve meets them.

“And here I thought you’d be happy. Clearly, no matter how many times we save the world together, I still don’t understand shit about you.”

“I’m not unhappy.” Steve states, watching the long breath Tony takes immediately, how his chest goes up and his body seems to relax further on the couch. Right now, he feels blessed just for that. “But there’s still work to be done.”

Tony groans, letting his head fall back, and Steve tries not to stare at the way his Adam’s apple moves. “God, how do you live like this? Seriously. There are about fifty people in this house at this exact moment, probably 90% of which are superpowered or enhanced in some way that definitely traces back to a tragic backstory, some that are from other planets, and you’re still the only one to cast yourself out.” He raises a hand and gestures flippantly to something in his back. “Even _Vision_ is dancing.”

Steve glances at the dance floor, to see Wanda and Vision moving close to each other, grinning wildly, in a strange rhythm Steve is definitely sure is not how the music is supposed to go. He smiles.

“See? It’s – it’s legitimately bizarre, it’s like it’s _ingrained_ in you, even when you don’t have a reason _._ Everything is fine, everyone is happy, everyone is celebrating, but you? No, you need to sit alone, in the dark, drinking water like an A.A. member, staring longly at the past or what the fuck ever, and I don’t know why I can’t _just_ …”

He knocks back the rest of the scotch, falling silent for a moment. But it’s still Tony, Tony is all about noise, so it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start talking again.

“Was it the serum? It must have been, there’s no other answer. We’ve been looking at this the wrong way, everyone thinking it enhanced everything about you, when instead it took your ability to be happy like a normal human being and turned into shoulders or something.”

“I can be happy.” Steve says. Tony rolls his eyes, and Steve watches how the dark lights reflect his iris, how it pulls out some traces of green out of the brown, and feels his chest tighten. He definitely never got the color right.

“Right, right. Of course you can.” Tony fills his glass again. Steve wants to stop him, but that would require touching Tony and he’s not sure he can do that, not when he’s awake, not when there’s not a clear excuse for it.

Tony stays quiet for a moment. Five whole seconds, Steve notices. A new record. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. Like I said, fifty superpowered people in this house, everyone having one hell of a good time, and I just can’t get over how much you hate parties.” He takes a sip that drowns out half of the glass. “Then I sit here like it’s going to make any difference. Pepper was right, I really need to go back to that therapist.”

Steve feels a knot in his throat at the bitterness in Tony’s voice. He’s used to angry Tony, dismissive Tony, even cruel Tony sometimes. Bitterness is different – it feels strange and heavy, as far from Tony Stark as silence in a hospital bedroom.

“It does make a difference.” He tries, even though he doesn’t know exactly what he’s even reassuring Tony of, but Tony doesn’t even glance in his direction, focusing his attention on the ceiling.

“I thought having him around would help.” His voice comes lower, almost a whisper, and it takes Steve a moment to understand.

“Bucky? Of course I’m happy he’s back.”

Tony scoffs. “But you’re still not _happy._ ” He takes another sip of his glass, head still laid back, and chokes a little, coughing for a moment. He pauses – five seconds, Steve counts, that seems to be the limit – before continuing again. “He’s handling it well.”

Steve is… Not sure of where this talk is going, and definitely not sure whether it’s a good idea to get into the topic of Bucky with Tony right now, but he feels like he has to agree. “Shuri helped a lot. The press is, well, it’s the usual, but I’m sure he will-”

Tony waves his hand in the air dismissively. “I mean being here.” Three seconds. “With me.”

Steve’s eyes widen, and there’s an ache in his chest at the heaviness in Tony’s words, like it hurts him to even say it. He takes a moment to answer, stuck on the way Tony’s eyes stare intensely at the ceiling and his mouth curls.

“What are you talking about?” Is the best he can come up with, and, wow, apparently talking to unconscious Tony really didn’t help to improve his ability to talking to the real thing at all.

“You know what I’m talking about.” And Tony’s voice now sounds distant, wrapped in a drunken haze. “I tried to kill the guy, and there he is in my living room, apparently trying to pin Sam to the floor over a card game.” Two seconds. “Maybe I should get the number of _his_ therapist.”

“Tony, I, I don’t… What are you saying?” Steve asks, because he – he thinks he’s starting to understand, now, and he almost wishes he didn’t.

“I’m saying the guy is magnanimous, Cap. It’s a fucking compliment, no need to get your panties in a twist about it.”

“Magnanimous… Tony, this is your _house_.” Steve says, because he needs to say _something,_ he knows, even if he feels almost out of breath. “Bucky couldn’t even believe you invited him, we didn’t even think-“

“Of course he couldn’t.” Tony interrupts, and his voice is so bitter and sad right now, Steve feels like he can’t bear it. “Not like the last chit-chat we had went very well.”

“He didn’t-Tony, you were hurt.” Steve blurts out, and it’s like removing the piece that makes an entire construction fall apart, because now he can’t stop talking. “You were caught by surprise, and you were angry and upset, and that _video_ … If that had happened differently, if Zemo hadn’t-“

Tony knocks back the entire glass in one sip. “You’re lucky there was a superhero gig for you in the 40s. You’d have been a shit lawyer.”

“You’re _not a murderer,_ Tony”. Steve says, and he doesn’t know when his hand moved to hold Tony’s wrist, but the contact sends a shiver down his arm. Still, when Tony snaps his head up to look at him, Steve can’t look away, his whole body almost shaking, needing Tony to understand. “You’re… So, so many things.” Steve continues, and against those brown-green eyes he can’t even try to hide the way his voice softens. _You’re a miracle, you’re a hero, you’re a magician and you don’t even believe in magic._ “A murderer is about as far from the list as possible.”

Tony takes a moment to speak, and Steve doesn’t count, but he’s pretty sure it’s longer than five seconds. “Made a very good impression of one in Siberia.”

“No. You were out of yourself. You wouldn’t have done this if Zemo hadn’t… If I hadn’t put us in that situation.”

Tony’s eyes are on him now, wide and bright against Steve’s, looking sad and lost but also attentive, almost needy, like he wants to cling to every word out of his mouth.

“You were right.” He blurts out, finally, his voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. “I hated you for so long, I was so angry, but you, you were right not to trust me.”

“I’d trust you with my life.” Steve says, his voice as certain as it can be, and he watches the way Tony’s eyes grow more vulnerable, almost nervous as he searches his face for some doubt Steve knows he’s not going to find. “I was never scared you’d hunt Bucky. I thought if I managed to find him first, if I figured everything out on my own, maybe it could… Ease your pain in some way.” His own voice is soft now, too, lower than before. “I didn’t want to face the truth. Of, of Hydra, of your parents, everything.” He pauses, and Steve can stay quiet for so much longer than five seconds, but even that feels too much now, under Tony’s gaze and his wrist in his hand. “I was selfish. I didn’t want to have to hurt you.”

Tony’s head leans forward, almost involuntarily, and Steve has a moment to register the pure smell of alcohol on his breath before he hunches over and vomits all over Steve’s shirt.

“Shit!” Tony exclaims, standing up immediately and almost falling down on the couch again, completely off-balance. “Fuck, I, I’m sorry, I…” He babbles frantically, laying his hands on the table to keep himself steady.

Steve jumps to his feet, trying to help him up. He takes Tony’s arm and throws over his shoulders, holding his waist. Tony lets himself go immediately, giving up any attempt to conjure some sobriety. “It’s ok, it’s ok. We- We should get you to your room.” Over Tony’s head, Steve can see Natasha and Clint watching them worriedly, but he shakes his head at them.

“Can’t, can’t remember the access code.” Tony mumbles. His voice is slurred, almost sleepy. It’s been over ninety years since the last time Steve was drunk, but he remembers well enough to know Tony shouldn’t have stood up suddenly like that.

“My room, then.” Steve says, taking Tony towards the hallway, opening his door.

Tony is still babbling, because Tony never stops talking. “No, no, I can’t-“

“Here.” Steve lets him into the bed, reaching for the water on his bedside table. He opens the bottle, carefully putting it in Tony’s hand, gently guiding to his lips for him to take a sip. “Drink it.” He orders, walking quickly to his bathroom.

He comes back with a towel to wipe away any vomit from Tony’s face or shirt. He wipes Tony’s chin and cheeks, quickly, not letting his touch linger any more than strictly necessary, looking away from Tony’s drunk, half-lidded gaze. Tony’s head rests on his hand for a moment, his eyes almost closing, and Steve can’t help but smile.

“Go get some sleep.” He says, his other hand touching Tony’s shoulder, pushing him towards the bed gently.

“You know,” Tony mumbles, because Tony _never stops talking._ “When you say shit like - like that, it’s… It’s hard.” His voice is slurred now, his eyes closed, as if he’s not even sure he’s still saying anything aloud. “Because I know I should believe you, but I – I wanna believe it so bad, so fucking much, that it feels like I shouldn’t. Like, the second I believe it, the other shoe’s gonna drop, and you’re gonna find out you don’t mean it.”

Steve opens his mouth, but Tony turns facedown on the bed, still mumbling against Steve’s pillow, and Steve knows he needs to let him sleep. So he stands up again, goes back to the living room and cleans up the vomit off the couch and floor.

By the time he goes back, Tony is curled up in the bed, sleeping. Steve already knows he’s going to crash Sam’s room tonight, but he needs a shower first, so he comes in anyway, and it’s hard to look away.

It’s nothing like the hospital. Laying on his bed like that, curled up, Tony _exhales_ warmth, enough for Steve to feel across the room. His hair is mess of dark curls all over Steve’s pillow, and as Steve watches his face, he notices the length of his eyelashes, the way his nose inhales and exhales the air, the way Tony’s body shifts from time to time. It’s a lot of tiny, small sounds, and it seems to fill up all the space, to make it seem cozy, comforting, alive.

Steve approaches the bed, because he needs to get at least one of the pillows Tony isn’t using, and when he comes closer he can’t not smile. Tony seems smaller than he has ever seen, vulnerable and soft and… Touchable.

Steve leans over him, carefully taking one of the pillows next to his head. Tony shifts slightly, and his hair brushes Steve’s hand by accident, and Steve’s heart aches in a way he didn’t even know it was possible.

“I love you.” He whispers, softly. It’s easy to say, like the words were stuck in his mouth for the longest time, just waiting to come out.

* * *

 

Between the second and the third times, Steve says it a lot in his head.

It happens first in the morning after, when Tony wakes up, and his hair is a mess and he looks like he wishes he’d never left the bed. But he’s still Tony, so when he meets Steve at the living room, he’s smoothing out his shirt with his hands and ready to take some coffee.

Steve hands him a mug.

Tony doesn’t thank him, just takes it and drinks. “God, of course you make good coffee.” He says, scrunching his face in disgust. “By the way, I saw the white pill and the water glass and just took it. So if you’re doing some drug trafficking on the side, now it’s a good time to let me know.”

“It was aspirin.” Steve says, his eyes involuntarily following when Tony licks his lips before taking another sip. “Sad, old men like me always keep some in the drawer.”

Tony lets out a nervous laugh. His eyes dart around the room, looking anywhere other than at Steve. “So I guess that conversation really happened. That’s nice. I should probably go back to sleep for another couple of days.”

“I was hoping we could talk more before that.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think that’s happening.” Tony finishes the coffee, walking quickly to put the mug in the table, already turning towards the door. “Talk to Friday, we can schedule something for next week – actually, scratch that, next week is too busy, maybe a couple of months from now. Might have a free weekend in August of next year, but I will need to check-“

“Tony.” Steve calls, reaching forward to hold his wrist. He holds it loosely, this time, not like the desperate grip of last night, so Tony can pull away if he wants to.

He doesn’t.

“I meant what I said.” Steve continues, because the warmth of Tony’s skin is distracting as always, and he knows he needs to talk. Strange said talking helps. Steve thinks that’s probably the wisest thing he ever heard. “Last night.”

Tony’s eyes are wide as he stares, scared in a way Steve is not used to seeing them.

“You weren’t yourself in Siberia, Tony. Bucky knows that. I know that.” Steve takes a deep breath, because it’s in his mind now and he wants to say it, but he knows now is not the time. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t protecting him from you. I was protecting myself.”

Tony’s face twists with something Steve can’t understand – a little bit of pain and hope and other things he doesn’t know. “Just, just what the fuck do you _want_ from me? I thought that was what you wanted, me admitting I was wrong. Now I’m doing just that, and you...”

“I was wrong too.” Steve says, tightening the grip around Tony’s wrist without noticing. “Zemo manipulated us, but if I hadn’t given him what to work with, that mess wouldn’t have happened.”

Tony’s voice is weak now, barely above a whisper. “Signing was a bad call.”

“Not telling you was a _shit_ call.” Steve blurts out, and Tony jumps a little, but Steve can feel something in him relaxing, his eyes less nervous, a slight glimmer of amusement in them.

“I never get what it takes to make you swear.” He says, voice still low but slightly playful now, and Steve is suddenly incredibly aware of how close they are.

“As, as for the Accords, you did what you thought was right.” Steve says, voice shaking just a little, forcing himself to not look away from Tony’s eyes, to ignore the way his heart rushes when he feels Tony’s wrist relaxing on his hand. “All of us did. And in a way, we all could have done better. But it’s over now.” He takes a sharp breath before continuing. “I can’t have you thinking I don’t trust you, Tony. We should have talked about this before, but with everything else going on, I just… I thought you were angry, I thought you hated me.”

Tony looks at him for a moment, and it feels like an eternity, way over five seconds. He opens his mouth to talk, then closes it, looks away and opens it again.

“I did hate you. For a while.” His voice is soft, but Steve can tell Tony does his best to hide it. “Don’t take it personally, it’s just, it’s so much easier to hate you. I’ve got so much practice.” Steve smiles a bit, and the way Tony’s eyes watch him make his knees feel weak. “Old habits die hard and all that.”

“Fair enough.” Steve shrugs, and Tony smiles back, just a twist of the corner of his lips.

“I wish I could hate you now.” He says, almost as if thinking out loud, and his eyes find Steve’s again and Steve _almost says it_ , because Tony saying he doesn’t hate him is enough to create a ridiculous warm feeling in his chest, but he bites his tongue and stays quiet.

That’s the hardest time.

* * *

 

It happens about a million times afterward.

It happens one morning when Tony walks into the kitchen looking for coffee after three days down in the workshop, and Steve is drawing and Tony just walks to one of the cabinets, takes an empty mug and lays it in front of him. Steve raises his eyebrows, but Tony’s face is blank, like a sleep-deprived zombie, and Steve smiles before standing up to make his coffee.

Tony mumbles “Thanks.” before taking his first sip, and Steve almost answers _I love you_ right off the bat, but he manages to hold himself back just enough to go back to his drawing. Tony watches him for a couple of minutes, drinking the coffee, and Steve makes the worst sketch of his life.

It happens after a mission, just a regular op to clean up a few aliens left of Thanos’ invasion. Tony lands in front of the compound next to Steve, rambling to Bruce about the tech they found, and as the Iron Man armor strips off him, Steve sees a piece of the debris in his hair, and, without thinking, he reaches to take it off.

Tony’s hair is soft and Steve can barely stop himself from letting his hand go through it, feeling the dark curls on his fingers and ruining Tony’s hairstyle. He sees the shocked look in Tony’s face, though, and he holds up the piece of debris apologetically. “There was, uh, there was something in your hair.” Steve says, and Tony – Tony _blushes_ , Steve has never seen it happen before, and he feels a fluttering feeling in his stomach, feels himself grinning with wonder at the sight, and _I love you_ bubbles in his throat so strongly he has to press his lips together to stop himself from saying it.

It happens at night, when everyone is sitting in the living room, and it feels like years ago, when it was just six of them – but now it’s better, Steve knows, because now there’s more of them so Tony has to sit next to him in the floor, because there’s no room in the couch. Tony babbles during the entire movie until Natasha finally threatens to make him choke on the control, and he makes just one small innuendo before whispering “Fine.” and shutting up. That lasts about three seconds, and soon he’s talking again, in a lower voice so Natasha doesn’t hear it, and Steve leans closer and lets him whisper, warm voice close to his ear, rambling about all the ways the physics of the movie don’t make sense and how they _could_ make sense if this or that was changed. “Look at this, this amount of energy would never be manageable without a scapegoat, it would overload in a _second_. And what kind of nav array is this, I mean, how do these panels even work?”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “Some kind of electricity?” He says, in the blankest voice, and Tony laughs in a way that makes Natasha turns around to look at them threateningly, but Steve doesn’t mind it, because he’s too busy trying to stop himself from saying _I love you_ to Tony’s silly, big, perfect grin.

It happens when life goes back to normal – or whatever a group of superheroes knows as normal, anyway -, little by little, and Steve can feel Tony’s gaze on him during meetings, during media outings, when he’s drawing next to the pool. Steve looks back and, sometimes, Tony doesn’t look away immediately, eyes big and intense against Steve’s, and Steve tastes the words in his mouth before Tony finally turns his head.

It keeps happening, every day, at the slightest occurrences. Steve doesn’t know how to feel about it – the worst part, he thinks, is that it just makes sense, to say those words to Tony, now that he already got them out. It feels easy, simple, right.

* * *

 

The third time it happens, it’s… Well, it’s ridiculous. Steve doesn’t really have an excuse for it.

There’s a party at the compound, because – well, technically, it’s to celebrate the final defeat of what was left of Thanos’ forces, but that’s kind of a flimsy reason, honestly. Thanos has been defeated for months, and the fact is that everyone in the team is still high on the happiness of stopping him and getting back together at the same week, and the Guardians are on Earth for some Novacorps business, and Thor’s ship is around too, so… Yeah, a party was kind of inevitable.

Because it’s only been a couple months since the last party trashed the compound, Tony argued they should do a garden party this time, in the faint hope hosting it outside will somehow decrease the inevitable physical damage of fifty superpowered people dancing and drinking.

Steve… Steve isn’t good at parties, and that doesn’t change even when you add a nice sunny day and a ton of drinks with colorful umbrellas. So the first chance he gets, he sneaks off inside, to get himself a soda and, hopefully, he thinks, finish some of the sketches he’s been struggling with the past week.

It doesn’t take an hour until the door opens behind him.

Steve looks up and… Freezes for a moment.

Tony looks at him with a grumpy expression. He’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, a sharp contrast from the fancy suit Steve saw him in when the guests were arriving. The clothes are _dripping_ wet, quickly creating a small pounce under Tony’s feet, and Tony’s hair – that Steve had seen carefully styled early on – is a mess of wet dark curls sticking to his forehead.

Steve likes to think he does his best not to smile _too much._

“I take it that not swimming wasn’t an option.” He says, trying to control the amusement in his voice, and Tony rolls his eyes.

“Apparently, throwing people in the pool is the way to say “thanks for the invite” in Asgard.”

“That was Thor’s excuse?” Steve raises his eyebrows. Thor has been visiting Earth for five years now, and he still pulls the “ _but_ _that’s how we do it in my homeworld!”_ card to get people to give him a free pass for anything.

“No. That was Brunnhilde’s. Thor just said he didn’t see when it happened the first time, so it should happen again.” Tony comes inside, his feet slamming the floor angrily, splashing water everywhere.

Steve gives up trying not to smile. “You got thrown into the pool twice?”

“No, I was _manhandled_ into the pool by ancient warriors who are ten times stronger than any regular human being.” Tony says, landing on the couch loudly, seeming a second away from pouting. “Twice.”

Steve laughs. “How did they even manage to get you twice?”

“I was… Distracted.” Tony’s eyes avoid his, focusing on the ceiling. He fiddles with something in his hoodie’s pocket. “So I thought I could check on the only person who’s having a more depressing party than me.”

Steve raises his bottle of soda. “Not water this time.”

Tony grins. “A decent upgrade, I’ll admit, but it’s still pretty weak, Cap.” He makes a show out of looking at Steve’s sketchbook. “And you’re _drawing_? Maybe next time I’ll just set up a kid’s area for you.”

“That would be really sweet of you, thanks.” Steve says, and Tony rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. He looks… Almost giddy, a menacing grin on his face, and he takes something that looks like a cellphone out of his pocket.

Knowing Tony, it’s obviously not a cellphone.

“Now, not wanting to interrupt your playtime or anything, I think you’ll enjoy seeing this.” Tony pats the couch slightly. Steve… Really should be somewhat opposed to sitting in what is now a completely soaked couch, but he doesn’t even care. Tony picks up a tablet forgotten on the table. “Friday, give us a visual of the pool.”

The screen shows the party. Steve smiles a little – he can see a lot of the Avengers swimming. Peter and Scott are apparently racing each other, splashing water everywhere. Natasha, Clint, Sam and Bucky are in the middle of a chicken fight – Natasha steady over Clint’s shoulders, and Bucky dropping Sam into the water as many times as possible. Out of the pool, Bruce is sitting on a table next to Brunhilde and Thor. Vision is at the bar, preparing drinks for Wanda and Carol, and Rhodes is right next to them, looking at Carol like a man preparing to go to battle.

Steve watches them a moment before he realizes. “There’s a camera in the pool?”

Tony smirks. “There is now.” He presses a green button on the device.

A jet of water goes right out of the pool, hitting Thor in the face.

Steve’s eye roll is immediate. “ _Tony_.”

“No, wait, wait, it gets better!”

Thor stands up, confused, over everyone’s laugh. He then walks a little towards the pool, and a second jet comes, from a different corner. Thor stumbles a little, struggling with fighting the jet while still holding his beer. By now, everyone is watching.

“Now, the grand finale.”

A huge, strong jet of water comes out right under Thor’s feet, effectively soaking him, and causing him to drop his glass on the floor. Thor mouths something that definitely seems like _Stark_ , eyes looking for the camera, but unable to find the right angle. Steve has to laugh now, because Tony is cackling with glee by his side, and on the camera he can see Thor giving an exasperated smile, too.

“There you go! Suck it, Pointbreak!” Tony yells at the tablet, before turning immediately to Steve, raising a warning finger. “Do not say you understood that reference.”

“I didn’t.” Steve says, grinning wildly now, and Tony chuckles softly. He looks all soft now, smiling and silly with messy hair and casual clothes. “I didn’t know we had jets of water in the pool. Or on the floor.”

“We didn’t. Until half an hour ago.” Tony takes a lock of hair off his forehead. “Honestly, setting up the camera was a lot harder. I get the feeling Strange saw me – that man is always _watching_ , I thought it was only a thing during the war, but no, talk about having a gift to be creepy – but thankfully his solidarity for the Awesome Facial Hair Bros fraternity remains strong. Besides him, no one else even suspected it, it was almost disappointing, really. Rhodey used to be a better challenge than this, but he was handicapped by the assignment of drooling over Danvers, so I suppose you can’t blame him-”

Tony keeps rambling – Tony never stops talking – but Steve blinks a few times, a sudden realization washing over him. “Why the camera?”

“-you should have seen his face when she took her shirt off, it was fantastic _,_ if I had a picture I’d frame it – what?”

“The camera.” Steve says. “You didn’t need it.” Tony just stares at him, almost bashful for a moment, and Steve feels his smile hurting his cheeks. “Did you… Did you install a camera over the pool in the middle of pranking Thor just to show me?”

Tony’s eyes turn very firmly to the floor, his cheeks flushing slightly, and the wave of warmth that comes over Steve would be enough to dry the couch. “Look,” He starts, still not looking at Steve. “It’s an offense to my ability as a host to have someone sulking inside the house while everyone else is having fun. Plus, it wasn’t _just_ for you, don’t flatter yourself that much, I, I’m putting this on the internet later, no prank is complete without recording.”

“This is a live feed.”

“…Well, would you look at that, I guess I didn’t think of everything.” Tony says, in the worst imitation of someone realizing a mistake imaginable, and Steve has to laugh, crossing his arms to stop himself from touching him.

“That is the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever done for me.”  He pauses for a moment, winded, and Tony looks at him now, mouth curling to fight back what Steve knows would be a self-satisfied smile. “I love you.”

Tony freezes.

Steve… Steve wonders for a second what the best course of action would be, going through all the options, including running to the garden and asking Thor to drown him in the pool for good. He has no idea why it slips out _now,_ exactly, but at this point he has no idea what tiny thing Tony is going to do that’s going to cause a fluttering feeling in his chest.

(If he’s going to be honest – and he’s always honest –, the minute the words actually leave his lips, he doesn’t regret them in the slightest, just like he didn’t before, in the hospital room and watching Tony sleep. At the end of the day, Steve thinks, you can’t regret the truth. It is just what it is.)

He does regret it, though, when Tony’s eyes find his, his expression unreadable (or maybe it isn’t, but Steve sucks at reading Tony anyway). Steve can feel his heart sinking, his face burning, and he opens his mouth to… To try to say something, he guesses, even if he can’t imagine what.

“I…” Steve can’t backtrack, he knows, even if he almost wishes he could, because he gets the feeling he just took something incredibly fragile and turned it upside down, and now he’d give anything not to break it. “I’m sorry.”

Tony stares at him for what feels like an eternity, and Steve is suddenly thankful he can hold his breath for ten minutes, because otherwise he’d probably pass out from lack of air. Tony opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens again – and his _eyes_ , intense enough to burn two holes in Steve’s face, glimmer with something warm, beautiful, strange, that Steve can’t fully understand.

“No.” Tony finally says, his voice soft and meek, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “No, you aren’t.”

Steve opens his mouth to – well, he never finds out what he was going to do, exactly, because Tony _dives_ into him. Steve’s body is technically capable of holding down a helicopter, but Tony’s tongue finding its way into his mouth is apparently enough to make him lose all balance, so he lands on his back in the couch. Tony’s mouth is wet and soft and _warm_ doesn’t even begin to cover it, it’s like Steve’s skin is boiling, burning up at every touch of Tony’s lips.

His hands go up immediately, holding onto Tony’s thighs, and Steve can feel the lean muscle under Tony’s sweatpants. He squeezes for a moment before getting a hold of himself, and Tony actually whimpers against his mouth, the sound travelling through Steve’s body, making him shiver. Steve pulls him closer, wants to hold him with everything he’s got, but Tony’s body shakes and Steve forces himself to loosen his grip, he can’t risk hurting Tony - Tony who’s in soft, casual clothes over him right now; Tony who was dripping wet and still feels like a furnace against Steve’s body. Tony is _kissing him,_ this is _happening,_ Steve isn’t sure of why or how, but he doesn’t even care.

“Tony-“

“Don’t talk.” Tony whispers, pulling him into another kiss, hands caressing Steve’s back and shoulders. Then, because Tony never stops talking, he pulls back. “I mean, don’t be _quiet_ , don’t stop making these noises-“ He leans forward, pressing kisses all over Steve’s jaw, making his way to Steve’s ear, and Steve lets out a moan when Tony’s lips suck on his earlobe. “Exactly, holy shit, don’t ever stop doing that. Just, you know, don’t _talk_ -talk.”

Steve doesn’t know what that means, exactly, but Tony’s fingers tug his shirt, pulling up, and he can feel Tony’s hands on his stomach, and it’s as if his pants just shrink three sizes. He runs his hands through Tony’s hair, feeling wet and soft locks between his fingers. Steve grabs a fistful, pulling Tony up slightly, kissing him and sitting up. He runs his hands over Tony’s back all the way to his hips and thighs, and it takes all his effort to not just rip his clothes off to gets his hands on Tony’s skin. He tells himself to calm down, to not hold on too tight, but Tony pushes his hips forward and the hardness Steve feels against his thigh makes him forget his strength, his control, and probably his own name.

Tony moves quickly, straddling him. And Tony _never_ stops talking. “I mean, don’t talk about, about other stuff, just, don’t talk about anything other than this.” Steve pushes Tony’s hoodie up slightly, feeling a bit of skin right above Tony’s hips and Tony lets out a noise Steve is pretty sure he wouldn’t mind hearing on repeat for the rest of his life. “Fuck, fuck, yeah, _exactly_ like that, but also, I, I want you to talk now, like, to actually say stuff.” Tony pulls back for a moment, eyes dark as he cups Steve’s face. “Tell me what you want. Anything.”

Steve kisses him again, deeply, carefully caressing Tony’s skin, Tony’s words echoing in his head. A distant part of Steve’s mind thinks he probably should answer something, but Tony pushes his hips forward again, nipping Steve’s lower lip and, ok, Steve is probably mumbling something, a bunch of senseless noises against Tony’s mouth, but he can’t even imagine what they mean.

“Ok, ok, so,” Like clockwork, Tony starts again, breathless but somehow summoning enough air to ramble anyway. Steve huffs out a laugh against his skin, a warm, delicious feeling bubbling in his stomach when Tony grins back. “I know I literally just said I’d do whatever you want, but apparently, you’re out of ideas- _fuck_ ” He mutters when Steve sucks a spot just above his collarbone. “Or, or, actually, your ideas are probably great, we should definitely discuss them later, but right now I want to know, can I suck you off?” Even _hearing_ it enough to make Steve groan, Tony’s words traveling through his whole body. “Oh, _oh_ , ok, that sounded like a yes, but I should say that I’d prefer, you know, actual words for this, though if you want to, I suppose we could come to an agreement through sign language-“

Steve pulls away for a moment, ignoring the protest of every cell in his body. Tony’s hair is a mess even bigger than before, his lips swollen from the kissing, face flushed in a way Steve didn’t even know it could get.

Steve’s grinning too hard now, but he doesn’t even care.

“Is this how you usually get people into your bed?” He asks, aiming for playful, but there’s a moment, a flicker of something in Tony’s face, something fragile enough to make Steve’s heart ache.

Tony takes a sharp breath, eyes big and nervous, before whispering. “No. It’s – it’s not.” He says, voice sincere and soft, and it takes every bit of Steve’s self-control not to just kiss him senseless immediately. Then Tony licks his lips and looks, really _looks_ at Steve for a moment, as if he wants to say something, something else, but he can’t find the words for.

(Something flickers inside Steve’s chest, too, as he watches, and he hears _I wanna believe it so bad, so fucking much_ in his head, and for a moment everything makes s _ense_ , to him, and he has to fight the urge to pull Tony closer, rest his forehead against his and just tell him the words again, because he found them, he knows them by heart now, could say it in his sleep if Tony wanted him to.)

It lasts just a moment. Then Tony blinks, his eyes darting from Steve’s face to his hands. “So, bed, uh? That is actually a good idea. I think this couch has seen enough of my bodily fluids.”

Steve looks at him for a second, his hands coming up to cup Tony’s face, and he kisses him chastely, his thumb caressing Tony’s cheek, hands careful and gentle because Tony – Tony is the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“Lead the way.” He says, pulling back, delighting in the slight flush and smile in Tony’s face, hand reaching for his and intertwining their fingers together.

* * *

 

Between the third and fourth times, Steve learns a lot.

He learns that Tony is a restless sleeper. That should be obvious, he supposes, but nothing about Tony really is, so Steve finds it interesting anyway. Not that he can’t sleep, though – when they’re together, at least, Steve finds that Tony falls asleep fairly quickly, which makes him think of how much sleep he doesn’t get when he’s alone. Then, he spends most of the night shifting constantly, never comfortable with one position. Steve doesn’t wake up easily, but he also doesn’t need much sleep either, so he often wakes up earlier, picks up a book and forgets to read it to watch Tony curling up on his side, moving constantly.

(One day Tony actually says to him: “You know, you don’t have to do it. You know what I mean, the, uh, the sleeping together thing? I mean, you’re not exactly a small guy, and I’m aware I take up more than my fair share of space. Pepper put up with it, but she’s a champion, the woman worked for me for years, and even she had to cave and get her own blanket eventually.”

Steve rolls his eyes, hugs his waist and pulls him closer, hands caressing Tony’s hair as he lays his head on his chest. “I don’t need a blanket,” He mutters. “I have you.”

Tony’s eye roll does nothing to hide his blush, but Steve is not even lying.)

Steve learns Tony is into pillow talk. Which, again, shouldn’t be surprising, Tony is _always talking,_ but Steve finds it fun anyway. Tony rolls on his back, stays a grand total of ten seconds in silence and turns back to him again, starting a topic Steve doesn’t even know how he manage to think of. He rambles about stuff he’s working on, Avengers business, bad movies. Or he asks Steve random questions - never anything personal, but things Steve is pretty sure no one asked him before, like his opinion on breakfast foods or what comics he read as a child. His voice always carries the same casual, fast-paced tone, but Steve learns to see the way genuine interest shows in his eyes, like he’s the most fascinating project Tony has ever worked on, and he’s more than ok with it.

(One day, Tony is cuddled up against him, hand distractedly touching Steve’s hair, finishing a very long rant about the scientific inaccuracies of the latest Doctor Who Christmas special, and Steve hears himself saying: “I’ve been meaning to ask what you think.”

At Tony’s puzzled look, Steve gestures towards his own face. “Oh. About the whole dark, Nomad, “vigilante on the run from the law” look?”

“I meant the beard and the hair, but sure, call it what you want.” Steve shrugs, and Tony’s look turns amused. “I’ve been thinking about whether to change it up or keep it. Natasha said the public won’t trust me again until I get a haircut, but I think she just hates it. Sam is on the fence. Clint said he thinks the beard looks great, so, naturally, I considered shaving it immediately.” Tony laughs, the sound delicious against Steve’s shoulder. “But I wanted to ask your opinion first.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, raising his hand to run his thumb over Steve’s face, a trail of warmth following his fingertip. “I’m the deciding vote? That’s one hell of a responsibility, like redesigning the flag.” He grins at Steve’s eye roll. “Well, I think it’s fucking hot.” He says after a moment, and Steve feels his face warming – that’s one advantage of the beard, that it helps hide his blush. “But, to be honest, I wouldn’t mind finding out what you’d look like with some beard burn.”

The next morning, when Steve finishes shaving and grabs a pair of scissors to give to Natasha, who doesn’t even try to hide her glee, he pretends he doesn’t hear it when Sam loudly says behind him: “Oh, so I guess now we know how Tony’s vote went.”)

Steve learns – well, he learns a lot of things, too many to count. He learns that Tony likes his coffee because he’s terrible at making his own. He learns that Tony doesn’t like every party – he just seems relaxed and at ease during the team parties, Steve notices, even if he tries to hide it. He learns that during three years, there were so many reforms in the compound, and it’s now so much bigger, and it must have seemed incredibly empty with just a few people around.

Steve learns that he isn’t bad with every party, either, just the ones he doesn’t spend next to Tony, who keeps talking to him and mocking the others and making sure Steve isn’t left out for one second. Steve learns Tony follows him around when he leaves the group, always nagging about him being an old man who can’t have fun, but Tony seems to be having enough fun just doing that.

Steve learns that when he reaches for Tony’s hand, or leans forward in the middle of the conversation and kisses his cheek, he can get Tony to stop rambling for just one second, and maybe even catch a slight flush on his ears before he goes back to babbling. He learns what he looks like with beard burn, and he learns that Tony’s stubble tickles his cheeks, but Tony grins so hard when it happens that it’s like he’s being tickled too.

Steve learns that Tony _never stops talking_ , ever, and when he isn’t actually making sounds, his gaze is speaking for him, saying a bunch of things in a language Steve doesn’t fully get yet, but he thinks he might be starting to.

* * *

 

The fourth time it happens, Steve has it all planned.

It’s one of those nights where they’ve just decided to stay in and watch a movie, ordering pizza and basically only getting up from Tony’s bed when one of them needs to use the bathroom. It’s – it’s _date night_ , really, but Steve is still getting used to call it that without grinning like an idiot.

It’s not always easy for them to find the time, now that it’s been long enough after Thanos that regular supervillains – guys who seem to operate on the logic of “ _sure, they saved the universe, but can they handle MUTANT RABBITS?” -_ are finding the courage to show up in New York again. So Steve thinks it’s the best moment. He’s only slightly nervous to say it, honestly, because at this point it’s echoing in his head so often it seems as simple as saying the sky is blue. Right now, with Tony’s head on his chest, laughing about some ridiculous comment about the physics of _Back to the Future,_ it’s especially easy, and it comes out as simple as letting out a breath.

“I love you.” Steve mumbles against Tony’s hair, and he feels Tony’s body stiffen next to him.

(It’s not that he cares about Tony’s answer, not that much. But Steve feels almost dishonest, not saying it, when it’s on his head so often, all the time. He promised himself he’d never keep anything from Tony again.)

There’s a moment of silence, and Steve can hear Tony’s breath, and a part of him wants to add that he doesn’t even need to answer, that just that sound is enough to make Steve happy for the rest of his days. But Tony shifts slightly on his arms, his head moving to look at him, and his eyes are so _big_ and beautiful and Steve doesn’t even know how can a color like that be real.

“I. I, uh.” Tony blinks for a moment, before resting his head again, eyes looking away immediately.

There’s another pause. Steve wonders if he should say something, but he’s pretty sure he just said everything he has to say. After a moment, Tony’s body relaxes slightly, and Steve runs his hand over his shoulder, caressing delicately – Tony’s the most delicate thing he’s ever held -, before Tony starts talking again.

“I. I heard you.” He says. “When you said that, uh. Before.”

Oh.

Steve didn’t see that coming.

“At the party?”

“Yeah.” Tony presses his lips together, as if he’s thinking, and then adds: “And, uh. At the hospital, too.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “You heard me at the hospital? How?”

“I don’t know. It was strange, like… Like listening to you underwater or something. Bruce doesn’t understand it, and the doctors didn’t get it either. You can ask Strange about it, but all you’re going to get is half an hour of mythical blabber.” He makes a face. “Actually, ask him about it, I’m sure it’s going to be the best part of his day.”

“Oh. So…” Steve doesn’t know what to make of this. “What did you think?”

“I don’t remember everything you said – again, go ask Strange, the man could use some joy in his life. I’m pretty sure he’s only happy if someone is looking at him confusedly, and no one makes a confused face like you.” Tony babbles. He takes a deep breath before continuing, his voice losing the fast-paced cadence. “But I, uh. I remember that.” His eyes dart around, nervously. “At the party I thought, I mean, I wasn’t exactly the model of sobriety that night. I could always have imagined it.”

Steve doesn’t let himself wonder if Tony had imagined that before. “And at the hospital?”

“Well, I mean, there was a lot to think about.” Tony says, but his eyes glance at Steve again, with some nervous curiosity. “When, when I woke up, I thought… I guess I thought it could be, I don’t know, some post-battle adrenaline.”

Steve barely holds back a chuckle. He can feel the warm skin of Tony’s shoulder under his fingers, and he draws little circles there, slowly.

He lets the silence linger between them – focuses on Tony’s breathing, Tony’s body now relaxed – before saying: “I guess it could be.” He pauses, deliberately looking at the ceiling, feeling his face flushing. “If you mean post-battle of New York, that is.”

Tony lets out a laugh, but it’s short. Steve just looks at him, watches as his eyes blink slowly, tinged by a faint glimmer of wonder that makes Steve’s heart hurt.

“Are you serious?” He asks, his voice unbelievably soft, and Steve feels a knot in his throat. His hand comes up to Tony’s face unconsciously, thumb caressing the stubble on his chin gently, chest tightening when Tony’s eyes find his. “That long?”

Steve smiles sheepishly. “I have previously declared myself the world’s leading authority on waiting too long.”

Tony’s face looks so _fragile_ , so vulnerable and scared and hopeful at the same time. “You, you…”

“You don’t have to say it back.” Steve interrupts, because by now he’s learned that Tony’s eyes can say too much even when his mouth is saying nothing. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I. I, I should…” Tony whispers, and Steve pulls him up slightly and kisses him, chastely and gently. “Ok.” He mutters, voice low, loaded with something Steve can’t quite get, but that makes him feel strangely giddy anyway. “Ok.”

* * *

 

(Steve does ask Strange, sometime later that week, when he’s visiting. The man raises his eyebrows at him for a moment, and Steve wonders if he’s about to start on the same ramble he apparently threw on Tony.

“Captain, it would take me years to explain all the details to you.” He says, with a tiny smile. “Frankly, as far as the important parts go, I think you already get it.”

Steve smiles back, because Strange is right – he really, really does.)

* * *

 

The fifth time is an accident. Steve doesn’t mean to say it, he really doesn’t, but Tony’s hand is warm and calloused and works him up until Steve can’t breathe or think or say anything coherent anymore, and his mouth is kissing and licking and biting Steve’s neck, and Tony’s thumb strokes the tip of his cock and – well.

Again, it’s an accident. He lays his head on the pillow, panting, feeling Tony’s soft kisses in his ear, and it just comes out:

“I love you.” He whispers, eyes closed, still too focused on the mind-blowing feeling of a few moments before.

“You’ve mentioned.” Tony says, and Steve’s eyes widen, awareness dawning on him too late.

“Shit.” He feels his face warm, but when he looks at Tony, he’s smiling. “I’m, I’m sorry.”

“I have an entire subsystem on Friday’s program computing the times you swear, and I still can’t for the life of me find a pattern.” Tony’s voice is playful, which is a relief. “Sorry for what?”

Steve blinks. “I. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He takes a deep breath, still trying to compose himself. “I meant what I said… Before. You don’t have to say anything.”

Tony huffs out a laugh against his neck. “I’m not _uncomfortable_.” He whispers, and there’s a warm, delicious feeling bubbling in Steve’s stomach when he registers how Tony’s body didn’t stiffen this time. “It’s just – well, you’re awfully casual with that phrase, most of the time.”

Steve frowns. “Casual?”

Tony looks at him, hand reaching to touch Steve’s hair. “No, I don’t mean as… Unimportant.” His hand takes a few locks off Steve’s forehead, moving down to stroke his cheek. “I mean that you just drop it, no prep at all.” He pauses for a second. “There’s a fantastic joke about your lack of prep here, by the way, I’m being incredibly mature to ignore it. But my point is, I thought you’d be more of a big, romantic speech kind of guy.”

“Do you want me to make a speech?” Steve asks. Tony’s eyes widen for a moment and he lays his head on Steve’s shoulder with a groan.

“Do I _want_ you to – God, it’s, it’s hard to deal with you sometimes, you know that?” He says, but there’s a flush on his cheeks, and Steve smiles. “No, Captain Earnest, you don’t need to make me any speeches. But it’s, well, a thing people usually do. When they’re saying… What you said.”

“I don’t… I don’t plan to say it. Most times. It just, it just slips, I think. Sometimes I just can’t help it.”

Tony stays still for a moment, his face still buried in Steve’s shoulder, and Steve feels his lips on the curve of his neck, soft and gentle. “I don’t think I will ever get used to it.” He says.

Steve presses a kiss on top of his head. “I could come up with a code phrase, if it’d make you feel better.”

Tony scoffs. “Yeah, maybe that could work.” He plays a little with Steve’s nape hair. “Does it bothers you?” He asks, his voice trying so hard to sound casual it’s almost funny. “That I don’t say it?”

 _I think you say it a lot, actually,_ Steve thinks, closing his eyes, feeling Tony’s fingers caressing the back of his neck. “No. It’s not a big deal. Just words.”

“Some would say it’s a very big deal.” Tony mumbles, and Steve turns his head to look at him, feeling his smile against his skin. He looks up, fluttering his eyelashes playfully. “ _Three words, eight letters, say it and I’m yours.”_ At Steve’s puzzled look, he just laughs. “I’m guessing ‘bad teen soap operas’ weren’t in your 21st-century list of things to catch up on. We should work on that, you’re gonna hate it _so much_ , it’s going to be amazing-“

Steve ignores his rambling. “’Three words, eight letters’, huh?” He cups Tony’s cheek, thumb caressing his chin, leaning his head down to come closer to him, face serious and intense. “I am Groot.” He whispers.

Tony stares at him for a moment before breaking in such a loud laughter Steve is pretty he’s going to wake everyone else in the compound up. “You, you…” He does his best to catch his breath, still grinning. “You’re fucking ridiculous, that’s what you are, Rogers.”

“I guess it works, then.” Steve mumbles softly, leaning down to press his lips against Tony’s smile.

 

* * *

 

Tony might have laughed at his idea for a code phrase, but Steve, personally, thinks it works perfectly.

Thing is, he still wants to say it – actually, to be honest, he wants to say it more and more, at every silly, stupid, perfect thing Tony does, all the time. But he doesn’t want to put pressure on Tony’s shoulders, doesn’t want him to think he’s unsatisfied or upset.

(Tony is the most precious thing he’s ever had.)

So he whispers “I am Groot” in the morning, when Tony curls up next to him, letting Steve caress his hair. He says “I am Groot” when Tony makes him cry with laughter during movie night, under Natasha’s disapproving gaze. He kisses Tony in the morning before leaving for his run, saying “I am Groot” when they break apart.

“Part of me really, really wants to ask,” Sam says, eating the last bite of his toast. “And the other part thinks I’m probably better off not knowing.”

“Shut it, Wilson.” Steve says, loving the slight flush that he can see in Tony’s ears.

 

* * *

 

It takes a few months, but a lunatic with _actual_ mutant rabbits finally shows up. Steve jumps over a bunch of debris to throw his shield at the creepy rodents when he notices that the ground beneath his feet is not as steady as he thought it would be. Buildings collapse during supervillain attacks, it happens, but a particularly aggressive rabbit manages to land a blow on Steve’s face that causes his comm to crash.

Steve has about fifteen seconds of free falling when the Iron Man armor shows up to catch him. Tony lands them in a safe spot, faceplate rising, and Steve opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Tony grabs him by the collar and kisses him breathless.

“You can’t _actually_ fly, you know. God, your comm, you, you…” His voice falters, and Tony seems to think for a second, his eyes wide and intense searching Steve’s face. “I am Groot.” He says, and Steve feels like he could actually fly by himself back to the compound. “I… I am Groot, seriously, Steve, _so much,_ shit, you can’t even-.”

“Ok, what the actual fuck,” Clint’s voice comes through the armor’s comm. “Is this some kind of euphemism? And if yes, then what – _ow,_ stop it, Nat, come on, you wanna know too - what is that even supposed to _mean_?”

“It means that Cap here is a fucking dork with no self-preservation instincts, which isn’t anything new, obviously, but I just can’t, can’t deal with you,” Steve reaches forward, turning the comm off, but - well, Tony never stops talking. “I mean it, you’re going to be the death of me, just when I think I’m starting to manage it, you do something like falling from a building or making me coffee or, or _existing_ in general, and it hits me all over again, and I’m trying so hard to understand it, to not freak out at the fact that I love you so much I just-“ He freezes for a moment, realization dawning on his eyes. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Steve breathes. Tony blinks at him for a moment.

“That… That was easy.” He says, slowly, letting out a breath as well, a big, dopey smile forming on his lips “It, it just…”

Steve’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. “Slipped?”

“Yeah.” Tony takes a step closer, the metal hand of the armor tugging Steve’s suit. “Wow, it’s – it’s kind of great to say it, actually, which, seriously, it figures - I spent literal nights trying to find a way to get the words out, and now it’s so fucking easy, how does that even work? Anyway, who cares, I love you.” He repeats, and honestly, forget the compound, Steve feels like he could probably float all the way to space right now. Tony’s smile grows. “Holy shit, now I get it, this is unbelievable, look at your _face_ , who needs a speech, this is just-“

Steve kisses him. Tony’s grin is wide and perfect against his mouth, and he can hear Tony still rambling between kisses, his breath fast and warm against Steve’s lips.

Steve whispers, voice a bit shaken, and he knows Tony hears it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> There are no words to express how glad I am to be able to finish this before Infinity War comes out. I didn't think I would be able to, not when it became clear that what was originally planned as a sweet ficlet would turn into a 20-pages-long monstrosity, but I'm so glad I did. I love these two so much.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading it! I'd love to hear you thoughts about it, positive or not, and if you want to talk or cry over possible IW theories, you can find me at my tumblr: [x](http://elcorhamletlive.tumblr.com/)


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